Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

  “Logan.”

  He turns to me and the smile that spreads over his face makes my heart flip over in my chest. “I like you in my robe. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes in response. “Logan, what’s wrong?”

  He stops just in front of me and starts to gently rub his hands up and down my arms. There is something brewing in his expression, but before I can ask him what’s troubling him, he says something that causes my heart to stop beating for a moment.

  “I think I made a mistake.”

  My face pales. I feel the blood draining from it. I take a step away from him.

  “Saffron, what’s wrong?”

  I can’t bear to ask but I have to. “Mistake? Would that mistake be getting engaged to me?”

  He wraps me into his arms. “I hate your parents, because their neglect makes you question what you know is true,” he says with anger. “No, it wasn’t a mistake getting engaged to you. I would marry you in front of all the world and be the happiest man alive. No, the mistake I made was inviting the press.”

  I pull back to look at him. “Why?”

  He gestures toward the window and I look out to see reporters camped out on the beach below.

  “Oh.” I turn from the window to see him studying me.

  “When I invited the press, I didn’t think about the downside of it, namely the ones in it not for the story but for sensationalism. Some of them can be quite cruel, and I opened the door. That was a mistake.”

  Walking back to him, I wrap my arms around his waist. “How bad can it be?”

  “You have no idea.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  On one hand, Logan and I have grown closer every day since the engagement party, but the side effects of being with a celebrity are beginning to take their toll. Logan was right in that I had no idea of the impact of the press on our lives.

  Now that people know David is in Harrington, there have been more visitors, mostly women, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Yes, Logan is hot and sexy, but I just don’t get it. If I knew that Brad Pitt was going to be in Manhattan, as much as I love him, I wouldn’t be running off to see him, hoping to catch his eye in the middle of a crowd. Get a fucking life, or get laid, or something. But not only do these women travel to Harrington, they have, on a few occasions, followed me home. I don’t understand this mentality. I realize that Logan is a celebrity, but he is still a person and should be treated as such. The other day at the bakery, I was actually confronted by a stranger who felt it necessary to tell me that I wasn’t good enough for him and should do the decent thing and set him free. She offered these words of advice while devouring an entire coffee cake, right there in the store. I’ll never eat another coffee cake as long as I live.

  I haven’t shared any of this with Logan, because what’s the point? It will only piss him off and make him feel responsible, but I have to admit I really don’t like it. Broderick’s warning plays in my head, but so does his assurance that it all eventually evens out. That’s what I’m doing, waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Mr. and Mrs. MacGowan arrive today and so everyone is coming to my house for dinner. I have spent the past two days cleaning, everything from dusting to washing windows and wiping down baseboards. I’m making Italian dishes, since Logan’s parents are partial. The lasagna is in the oven, the meatballs are simmering, and the antipasto and tiramisu are chilling. I have a fire log in the fireplace, candles artistically placed around the living and dining rooms, and the table set with my nicer dishes.

  As the doorbell sounds, I give everything one last look before I reach for the door and pull it open. Cold paint splashes all over me and then I hear the sound of someone running away, but I don’t miss the “bitch” called in retreat. I wipe at my eyes with my dress, and when I’m finally able to open them, I see the blue paint all over my foyer. Reaper is there, having come to greet our guests, so when he shakes, paint goes flying everywhere, before he trots away, leaving blue pawprints in his retreat.

  Logan and his family will be pulling up any minute, but there’s not a damn thing I can do before they get here, so instead of attempting to clean it up, I walk out the back door and head for the beach. It’s cold, but I’m so angry that my temper is keeping me warm. Minutes later I hear the car, followed shortly by the commotion inside. I hear my name being called, but I don’t answer because I’m so angry I can’t speak.

  “Saffron,” Logan calls from the back door. Seconds later, he’s right at my side. He turns me to him. “What the hell happened?”

  Tears are in my eyes but I don’t let them fall. “Apparently, I’m a bitch.”

  “Fucking Darla. She’ll pay for this. Jesus, you’re freezing.” He takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders before lifting me into his arms and carrying me back inside.

  I rest my head on his chest. I’m feeling demoralized and pissed because the situation is completely out of my control. How do you deal with people who not only think about throwing paint at someone, but actually follow through? I mean, sure, I’ve thought about dragging the occasional person out of their car when I get cut off at a stoplight, but I don’t. When faced with someone who does act on their baser instincts, you’re helpless to do anything about it. My voice is hoarse from simmering anger. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Rage drips from his words.

  “Not really the first impression I was hoping for. My house is a mess.” Wrapping my arms around him, I bury my face in the crook of his neck.

  “I’m sorry, baby, I am so sorry,” he whispers.

  “It wasn’t you who threw the paint at me.”

  “No, but it was because of me.”

  My head snaps up in response and I grab his chin, forcing his gaze on me. “It was no more your fault than it was mine. Don’t.”

  He doesn’t answer, but I can see something burning in those eyes. I don’t like what I see, but before I can press him on what he’s thinking, we’re stepping into the house where Broderick, Dante, and Mr. and Mrs. MacGowan are standing. I gently push on Logan for him to let me down and unconsciously I arrange my skirt, which is pointless since most of it is covered in paint.

  “Hello. I hope your trip was pleasant. I’m Saffron and . . .” My house is a disaster, it all is just too much for me to deal with. “I’m really sorry about this.” I turn to Logan. “Mitch will be able to get you into The Harbor.” I simply can’t deal any longer and add quickly, “If you’ll excuse me. Reaper, come.”

  I don’t wait for a response as Reaper and I disappear down the hall to my bedroom. I listen for the sound of the front door closing, signaling my guests are gone, before I make my way to the bathroom and step fully clothed into the shower. Reaper jumps in after me—he loves taking a shower. Peeling off the wet dress, I shower the paint away before washing down Reaper. Climbing out, I dry off and then dry Reaper, who shakes, sending water droplets flying around the bathroom. Not all of the paint has come out of my hair, but I’ll deal with that later.

  After reaching for a bag under the sink, I squeeze out my dress and drop it, my panties, and shoes into it. In my state, the idea of taking my damn shoes off so I didn’t track more paint around my house escaped me. Reaper settles on my bed to groom himself further. I pull on some sweatpants and a T-shirt before pulling my hair back, and then I tackle the bathroom until it sparkles.

  Wiping up the paint I tracked into my room, I move to the living room, but I’m confused when I hear the voices as soon as I open my door. Reaching the foyer my feet just stop at the sight. Logan, Dante, and their mom are all on their hands and knees, cleaning the paint from my floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  It’s Logan who answers me, and he sounds almost jubilant considering the circumstances. “What does it look like? We’re cleaning this up.”

  “No, you’re getting paint all over your pretty clothes.” I hurry over to Mrs. MacGowan. “Pleas
e, I can do this.”

  Beautiful hazel eyes lift to mine with understanding and sympathy. “I raised three boys, so I’m used to this.”

  I kneel down next to her. “Yes, but you’re dressed in Armani.”

  She grins and holds out her hand to me. “Briana. Nice to meet you, Saffron.”

  I smile, seeing so much of Logan in her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You might want to check on the lasagna. It smells delicious.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Jumping up, I start for the kitchen only to stop because Logan’s father is already pulling the lasagna from the oven. He turns in my direction and I almost gasp because I’m looking at an older version of Logan: every feature is the same. Even their bodies are built the same. I feel my legs go weak when a smile cracks over his face.

  “Scary, isn’t it?”

  It takes me a minute to comprehend what he’s saying. “It’s uncanny.”

  He reaches for my hand. “Rory. Very nice to meet you, Saffron.”

  I can’t help watching as he brushes his lips over my knuckles and I’m not embarrassed to admit that I experience my second ever crush, and for my own fiancé’s father, at that.

  The doorbell sounds, but I can’t for the life of me think who would be paying me a visit. I’m somewhat reluctant to leave Rory, but I force myself from the room with a hurried “Excuse me.”

  My heart is literally beating faster than before, but then, is that really a surprise with how much the father is like the son?

  Reaching the living room, I see Tommy and Gwen carrying hangers of clothes. Even though they smile, I can see the understanding in their expressions. And then my eyes take in my foyer and to my surprise, it’s sparkling; there is not a speck of paint anywhere.

  “Could I use your bathroom to freshen up?” Briana asks.

  “I can’t believe you got this done so quickly. There’s a bathroom in the guest room. I’ll show you.”

  Gwen hands me Briana’s clothes, before I walk her down the hall to the guest room. I place the clothes on the bed. “Thank you,” I say.

  “It’s what families do, and you are now a part of our family.”

  I’m smiling as I pull the door closed.

  Dinner turns out to be lovely. The food and wine are delicious and the company is first rate. Throughout dinner, Briana and Rory entertain me with stories about Logan and his brothers, hysterical stories that make me laugh and the guys blush.

  When they are preparing to leave, Briana takes me aside. “It takes a bit of getting used to, Logan’s celebrity status. Knowing how much time and effort you put into this evening makes what happened even more infuriating, but he is worth it. I’ve never seen my son so happy. There’s baggage with Logan, but you’ll never find a better man.”

  My hands find hers. “I love your son and I realize I’ll have some adjusting to do, but if Logan’s the prize, I’ll do it.”

  A smile spreads over her face. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “When you start planning the wedding, I’d be delighted to help.”

  “I would love your help.”

  Her entire face lights up at that.

  I walk Briana to her husband, who immediately brings me close for a bear hug. “Dinner was delicious. We’ll see you tomorrow, yes?” he asks as he takes a step back and again I’m struck with how much Logan looks like him. “Yes.”

  He brushes his lips over my cheek and my heart flutters.

  “You better watch out, Logan, looks like you’ve got some competition,” Broderick teases.

  After saying good-bye to Broderick and Dante, the door closes and silence falls. Logan remains looking at the door before he turns and I see the look I saw earlier. “I’ll go clean up the kitchen.”

  He starts away from me. “Logan?”

  He threads his fingers through his hair, his temper simmering just under the surface.

  “You went to so much trouble for tonight and then some asshole throws paint at you. I mean, what the fuck? You don’t deserve to be pulled into the bullshit of my life and to have your quiet life invaded. I did this, I opened the fucking door and they just walked right on in and there’s nothing I can do to protect you from it.”

  “Tonight was trying, but it’s a part of you and I love you so if I have to deal with the occasional crazy fan, so be it.”

  “If it was Darla tonight, I’ll deal with her. If it wasn’t, from my experience, it’s only going to get worse.” He frames my face with his hands. “What I wouldn’t give to be just an average guy who didn’t have to watch the papers every day to make sure the media isn’t feasting on the woman he loves.” He wraps his arms around me. “If I could be that man, if there was something I could do to become anonymous again, I would. I’d do it for you.”

  Trying to lighten the mood, I reply, “Well, you’re tolerable too, I suppose.”

  He looks devilish as he tosses me over his shoulder. “I’ll show you tolerable, brat.”

  After the paint incident, things seem to settle down. The town starts taking a more active notice of those visiting Harrington. Sheriff Dwight assigns a squad car to drive down my street a few times a day.

  The MacGowans are heading back to Scotland but are planning a longer trip closer to the wedding. Briana and I have exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, so the distance won’t affect us working together on the wedding plans.

  After Logan and his parents leave for the airport, I head to Tucker’s for work. When I arrive I see Gwen and Josh waiting for me at the bar.

  “I want to know all about your visit, but first, you okay?” Gwen asks.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I’d been adequately warned about what to expect being linked to David, but I wasn’t expecting something so invasive. I can’t get my head around the idea that people can act so unhinged all because of a pretty face. It’s disturbing.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. I heard the sheriff was asking at the local hardware store about any purchases of blue paint recently. What kind of person does that?” Gwen asks.

  “Someone who isn’t completely stable,” I say.

  “And Logan?”

  “He thinks it’s Darla. He’s catching a flight to New York to deal with her.”

  “You don’t look like you agree that it was her,” Josh guesses accurately.

  “I don’t. When she came to the house . . . actually, more when she realized that Logan truly had moved on, she got it. So no, I don’t think it was her.”

  “Maybe the sheriff will have luck, but in the meantime we’ll just have to be extra cautious. Now spill about his parents,” Josh says.

  “They’re wonderful. After a disastrous beginning, we all sat around like longtime friends talking about everything and anything. They’re sweet and smart and they put me at ease, made me forget how the evening started, and I know they did it on purpose. Briana is going to help with the wedding plans, was so excited to be included.”

  “And your parents?” Gwen asks.

  “Debated about calling them, but I did. I left a message. I haven’t heard back from them, but I’m not really expecting to.”

  “They won’t offer to pay for it?”

  “Doubtful. Logan wants to pay for it, has insisted, even though I offered to help with the money that Frank left me. He wants me to keep that for Dupree House.”

  “Like I said, we totally approve of Logan. Let’s talk dresses. Any idea what you’re looking for?”

  A dreamy look passes over my expression at Gwen’s question. “No, I don’t know. I guess we need to go shopping so I can try some on and get ideas.”

  “Sounds like a trip to Bar Harbor,” Josh and Gwen chime in together.

  “We’ll have to schedule something, and soon. And with the Swordfish Festival coming up in a few months, I’m thinking that Logan and I should get married on that day. Call me crazy, but it’s when my relationship with Logan changed.”

  “
And forevermore swordfish will be synonymous with your love. How romantic.”

  I clock Josh in the head. “You’re an idiot.”

  The door to the bar opens, and in walks Shalee. Apparently, her seaweed allergy finally healed, because her skin is once again smooth alabaster. As soon as she sees me, she starts over before settling herself on a stool. “You’re engaged to David Cambre. How the hell did you pull that off?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look, you’re pretty and all, but David Cambre? You aren’t in his league. You’re a poor bartender. Do you have any idea what the people in David’s social circles are saying about the engagement? They’re counting the months, I assure you. You’re an embarrassment to him.”

  “Shalee, that’s enough.” I’ve never heard Gwen so angry before. Her anger almost rivals my own.

  Shalee stands to go, but she levels me with a rather sincere look. “I’m not trying to be mean, but his world and your world just don’t mesh. Have you even considered the impact on his art an engagement to you will have? Part of the allure of David Cambre is his availability—the dream just out of reach. You’ve seen the women coming here to get a glimpse of him, for the idea that he’d point to them in a crowd and make all of their dreams come true. Marrying you will make him lose that, and his art will suffer. And as much as he may love you, he loves his art and sharing it with the world. He could one day grow resentful that marriage to you took that away from him.”

  A coldness settles over me as Shalee takes her leave. As much of a bitch as she can be, she made some remarkably insightful comments. When I look over at Gwen and Josh, I know that they are thinking the same thing.

  As we’re dress hunting in Bar Harbor, Shalee’s comment from the other day is still rattling around in my head. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I don’t disagree with it either. I could dwell on how Logan and I come from two different worlds but I won’t, because all that matters is that we love each other.